Warrior mh-10

by Allan Mallinson

  She had not done so when the Zulu attacked. His Cape pony and the bat-horse had bolted good and proper when he had walked back towards the troop – on account, doubtless, of the rifle fire – but Molly had stood her ground, as a well-trained charger ought. And when he had raced back to her pursued by more Zulu than he could count, and vaulted half into the saddle, so that he lay rather than sat astride, she had broken into the most even of trots, allowing him to get his balance, and then the reins and finally the stirrups. They had galloped, then, for the ridge on which the troop had camped, and when he had stopped shaking, and recovered his breath, and his wits (the instinct for flight displaced everything but brute strength), he had begun to take stock of the sorry situation.

  From this position, he could see even better the fate that had befallen Captain Brereton's dragoons, and the certainty that none had escaped death. The Zulu were already stripping the bodies. But where Colonel 'Ervey was he had no notion – except that he was not among the dragoons below. Was he inside the kraal still? Had the Zulu woman given him away?

  What was he supposed to do, now? What could he do?

  First, he could make sure he wasn't caught. Even if the Zulus did have some of the troop horses, they wouldn't be able to catch him as long as he stayed mounted and Molly stayed sound. He would have to show himself, though, or how would Colonel 'Ervey know he was there? Could he keep riding round the kraal till Colonel 'Ervey saw him?

  But what if he were a prisoner inside the kraal? Could he leave Molly tied up, hidden, and go into the kraal by himself ? He had the rifle, after all. And when it was dark he ought to be able to get in somehow . . .

  But he would have to look in every hut! And as soon as he fired the rifle, the whole of the kraal would stand-to, and then there would be no chance of getting out (there were only twenty or so cartridges left).

  No, surely it would be better to keep looking for him outside. Colonel 'Ervey would know how to get out; he'd got out of worse places than here! Just as long as the Zulu woman hadn't given him away.

  He reloaded the rifle and slipped it back into the saddle sleeve. 'Right, Molly, lass; we're gooin' lookin' for thi master!'

  He had to think sharp again, however, for there were Zulus coming up the rise. Had they seen him (he thought he had kept his head down)? Were they after him, or just wanting to scour the camp ground?

  He looked left, the way the rest of the troop had gone. Perhaps if he dropped back a bit, and headed in that direction, he would find somewhere to keep watch on the entrance which Colonel 'Ervey and the Zulu woman had gone through?

  But there were Zulus over on the left, too. They looked like they were searching for him. Perhaps he ought to head back a little, the way they had come yesterday? Yes, that was the best course: if he got the other side of the hill behind him – only half a mile or so west – and then turned south for about a mile, he would come onto the queer-shaped hill they had stopped on to look at the kraal yesterday, and then from there he'd be able to see if there were any Zulus on the south side of the kraal, and if there weren't he could watch from there. He'd got Colonel 'Ervey's telescope after all.

  He gave them the slip – bastard Zulus! Why didn't they come at them fair instead of sneaking up like that? – and circled south, unseen. And from the queer-shaped hill he saw the clump of pear trees, and not a Zulu for half a mile and more. That would be the place to hide (Colonel 'Ervey wouldn't have said 'hide': he'd have said 'conceal themselves', but that didn't matter; just as long as nobody saw them).

  He knew how the scouts did it. He may have been a groom for twenty years, but he knew a thing or two (and if he didn't, all he had to do was think what Colonel 'Ervey would do). He halted well short of the clump, in the open (but there was no other cover), and took out the telescope. He knew how to use it, except that even with Molly standing still it was difficult to find the trees through it, and then they were a bit of a blur.

  He gave up after a while. But he'd have seen if there were Zulus among the trees, even blurred, because they'd have been moving – and there wasn't anything moving. He screwed up his bare eyes against the sun just to make sure. No – there were nothing.

  The scouts used to dismount, and one of them would go forward and check a place on foot. But that was with another man covering him, and he hadn't got anyone. So ought he to dismount? No; he bloody well wasn't going to get down from Molly till he was certain there wasn't a Zulu in half a mile!

  He slipped the rifle from its sleeve, pulled back the hammer, and edged Molly towards the clump of pear trees, as the sahibs did in India when they were hunting tiger.

  There was nothing. Just wild pear trees, ten of them, and stunted little things, not like proper pear trees in England. In fact he wouldn't have known they were pear trees at all unless Old Bez – Corporal Bezuidenhuit – the Rifles' commissary, had told him. Not that they had come past this particular clump, but these were the same trees all right. Not that he needed to know. It wasn't even as if there were pears on them. He'd have to wait all summer for pears.

  Not that he felt like eating. Except that Old Bez had told him – warned him – about the boomslang, the snake that were so pois'nous that when it bit you, you didn't have time to say, 'God 'ave mercy', before you were dead. And this boomslang hung about in trees waiting for people to walk underneath, and then it dropped on top of you and you'd be dead. But it didn't like pear trees, said Old Bez, or some other sort of trees, which he couldn't remember now. But definitely not the pear tree. So here he could hide – conceal himself – with Molly and have a good scout of the ground with his – Colonel 'Ervey's – telescope, and then he could work out what best to do next.

  He slid from the saddle and loosened the girth – he thought it was safe to, and Molly would have to have some grass in her or she'd get colic and then they'd be in trouble. They were in trouble already, but they'd be in real trouble with colic. And then he began thinking about the dragoons down there, with the vultures circling round. There was . . . He wasn't sure exactly who there was, because he'd been hammering a shoe back onto his pony right up until they mustered. There was Connell, because he was Captain Brereton's coverman that morning. He didn't like Connell much, but everybody said he was good at skill-at-arms, and riding school. And there must've been French, because he was Colonel 'Ervey's coverman, wasn't he? Poor old Frenchie. He were a gentleman really, but he didn't put on airs at all. He'd help anybody, in fact – write letters for them that didn't write an' all. And that new lad, Hanks, who'd thrown up when he'd had to drink rum from the pisspot, which everybody had to do when they joined. And Mr Petrie, whose father had come to see him off, a nice old gentleman who'd shaken his hand and asked if he'd been at Waterloo, and gave him a sovereign when he'd said yes. He was a nice man, too, was Mr Petrie. He always smiled when he returned your salute; Colonel 'Ervey liked him as well, and said as he would make a good officer. It were a shame.

  But he mustn't think about it now. The only thing he'd got to think about was watching for Colonel 'Ervey, and keeping himself out of sight.

  So he watched: one hour, two, three – he'd no idea. The sun had moved a bit – he could see it every so often when there was a bit of thinning in the cloud – but he couldn't tell much from it; not like he would have been able to in England. And the Zulus kept coming and going, in and out of the kraal, more and more of them, and there was no sign at all of Colonel 'Ervey.

  What if there were another opening, on the other side, and he'd been able to get out?

  He couldn't just sit here – stand here, for he wasn't going to sit down and be eaten alive by ants, or crept up on by boomslangs if they'd fallen out of another sort of tree. He started to tighten Molly's girth.

  He rode until the sun was fist height above the horizon. He tried showing himself as often as he could – so that Colonel 'Ervey could see him if he were lying low – but he had to keep backtracking, into dead ground, every time he saw a Zulu. And they were all over the place, and he wondered, if
they saw him, whether they would think there was a whole troop of him, because he kept appearing in different places.

  But he didn't see Colonel 'Ervey. Not a sign of him. Or the Zulu woman either – but it was difficult to tell because they all looked the same and because they didn't wear anything but grass skirts. But he'd know her if he saw her close up. She'd looked sad when he'd given her the overalls and the cape, and he'd noticed she looked like one of the girls in Stepney when he used to go for the things for the officers' house. She had nice eyes, and she didn't have those big lips like a lot of blackies did. In fact, if you put a dress on her she'd look better than a lot of the women you saw in the streets in London of an evening. In fact, if her hair were long, like a proper lady's was, she'd look like a proper lady – if she weren't black of course. But that didn't matter, really, because she was better looking than a lot of them, and she seemed nice. Except that she might've given Colonel 'Ervey away.

  And so he rode back to the pear-tree clump the way he had come, and tried to think what else to do. He loosened Molly's girth again to let her pull at the grass, but he daresn't take her saddle off because they'd have to gallop like the blazes if the Zulus had followed them. He wasn't hungry. He'd drunk half the water in his canteen, but that was all right because it wasn't too hot, and he wasn't really thirsty. And there were plenty of streams he'd seen, but he hadn't wanted to dismount to fill his canteen again because if there were Zulus about they could be crouching in the grass, like the ones that got them this morning.

  But he didn't know what to do. And it was going to get dark soon. He couldn't do anything when it was dark. Even if he could find his way to the kraal, how would he be able to get in? And how would he find his way round: there were so many huts? All he could do was wait until it was light again and then ride the way he'd gone today, and perhaps Colonel 'Ervey might have seen him and would be waiting for him to come back tomorrow.

  And so now he would just have to wait until it was tomorrow. But first it was going to be night. He had never been by himself anywhere before at night. What would he have to do? He couldn't go to sleep. What would he sleep on? Not the ground; not by himself. And there were no sentries. There had to be sentries. He would have to be the sentry, all night.

  When the night came it was darker than he'd ever known. He stood holding Molly's reins, short, pressed up against her. He had to put his cloak on, because it got cold as soon as the sun went down. And then the noises came – shrieking and snarling, hissing, hooting, whistling, rustling – and they went on all night, as if they were trying to frighten him out of the trees. And they nearly did. And all the time there could be Zulus creeping up on him, and he'd never know till there was a spear in his back. And it got so bad that he had to get into the saddle, although poor Molly had had to carry him all day.

  And when it started to get light at last, he knew he had to stand to, so he got the rifle out of the sleeve again, and watched for all he was worth, shivering with the cold and not knowing if he'd see another living soul again that he knew. It wasn't as bad, though, now that he knew it would be light soon, except that now there were queer shadows moving about, and he knew that it wasn't anything but the way the sun came up, but he wasn't sure, because it could be Zulus not shadows, and they might even be using the shadows to creep up on him, because they were like wild animals really and they knew how to hunt.

  When it was really light, and he could see there was nothing at all – just the long grass, and the kraal half a mile away – he started to feel better, because he'd stuck to his post all night and hadn't been too frit and run away, and he hadn't fallen asleep or done anything like that. Except that he'd been a burden on poor Molly. So now he got down and undid her girth again, and this time he unfastened the bit on one side of the bridle, and let her have a good length of rein so she could pull at the grass.

  And now he was feeling hungry too, and he rummaged in one of the saddlebags, because he knew Colonel 'Ervey always had a few bits of things to eat (as he did too, but his pony had gone) – and there were some things to eat, some biltong and some corn cakes, and two hard-boiled eggs. He'd give Molly the corn cakes. She grabbed the first from him, and then the other two, and she nudged him for more when she'd done. He chewed a bit of biltong, but it made him want to drink, and he knew he'd have to be careful with the water just in case he couldn't get near any more till a lot later. The eggs were best. That's what he liked most of a morning, and Colonel 'Ervey always bought lots of eggs whenever he could and boiled them hard and kept them in his pocket or in the saddlebag, because old Mr Corporal Coates, his friend before he died, told him a long time ago, when he was a boy, before he joined the army, that he ought to take boiled eggs with him whenever he went on campaign, and he was always very good about sharing them with him.

  He took out the telescope to have a good look round, but the glass was misted and it was a bit of time before he could dry it properly. But when he had, there was nothing – not even many Zulus about like yesterday. So he reckoned he ought to get moving soon, go round the way he had yesterday, show himself every so often – shout 'Colonel 'Ervey, sir!', even. Because the Zulus'd never be able to catch him on Molly, just so long as she didn't go lame – and there was no reason for her to go lame because she'd been hotshod, proper, before they'd left Cape Town, and this ground wasn't nearly as hard as it was in England sometimes.

  So he fastened the bridle again, and tightened up the girth, and rubbed her nose and said nice things to her – as he had all night, but now he could say them so's she'd be sure to hear – and got back into the saddle and set off to find Colonel 'Ervey.

  But he saw no sign of him. He didn't call him, because it didn't seem right to – because the Zulus would hear, and they'd know then that Colonel 'Ervey was hiding somewhere, and would start looking for him. He showed himself once or twice – well, three times, really, if you counted the same place twice, there and back – but it just felt like he was waiting for a Zulu to come and throw a spear at him, and then he'd be no good for anything, and certainly not to find Colonel 'Ervey. So after midday – which he could tell because he'd noticed yesterday how the shadows changed direction – he came back to the pear-tree clump to work out what he'd do next.

  The easiest thing would be to go back where they'd landed. He'd be able to find his way all right. And he might even find that Mr Isaacs, where they'd left him, if he hadn't got better and gone back. But that wouldn't really be what Colonel 'Ervey would do, was it, because he wouldn't leave Mr Somervile by himself? He'd try to catch up with him; that's what he'd try to do. That's what he'd be trying to do, because he couldn't still be in yon kraal or they'd be doing something that'd tell you they'd got him – bastard Zulus!

  But where had Mr Somervile gone? Nobody had told him. All he knew was as they were going one way and Colonel 'Ervey was going another. But he wouldn't want to be going another way now, would he? He'd be wanting to catch up with Mr Somervile, and Captain Fairbrother.

  Yes, that was it – Captain Fairbrother. He'd know how to find Colonel 'Ervey, even if he were in the kraal still. He bet he could catch them up on Molly. And it wouldn't be that hard, would it, to see where they'd gone, because fifty horses couldn't not leave an easy trail to follow? So if he set off now he'd be able to catch up with them in a day or two. Except that he'd have to do sentry again by himself at night, and he wasn't sure he could.

  But what if Colonel 'Ervey wasn't doing that at all? What if the Zulus had killed him?

  He sank to the ground, as if his legs turned slowly to jelly. And warm tears began trickling down his grimy cheeks.

  XXI

  THE WATERS THAT COVER THE EARTH Afternoon

  Hervey and Pampata stood staring at the Thukela in dismay and disbelief. In the morning they had crossed the Inonoti with barely twenty strides, the water not rising above Pampata's knees; but here the river was wider than Hervey could have thrown a spear, and looked deeper than his 'sister' could ford (he had learned already t
hat she could not swim). Besides, the Thukela was in spate, its current stronger than he would have cared to tackle even on his own.

  Pampata knew the cause. The Inonoti, she explained, was but a small river, rising from the ground not so very far from where they had crossed, whereas the great Thukela rose in the mountains – uKhalamba, the barrier of spears – many miles to the west. The clouds that had crossed their sky must have shed their water there in a great rain, mvulankulu, which the Thukela had collected and now returned to the sea.

  This was some comfort at least, for Hervey knew well enough that a spate river could fall as quickly as it rose. But he could not see how so much water could pass at such a speed without a great deal more behind it. He had watched the cloud for three days, and thought it unlikely there would be any let in the current before morning. With difficulty he asked her how deep was the Thukela when the waters subsided.

  She pointed to her breastbone.

  It was not encouraging: if she had to wade at that depth, it could take days before they might ford. And then a darker thought occurred. 'Ingwenya?' he asked, pointing at the river.

  Pampata shrugged, as if to say 'who knows?'